A Rock and a Hard Place
by TGR83
Summary: What if you found yourself in an unknown location, with no recollection of who you are or where you're from? Follow the journey of an amnesic as he struggles to survive a harsh world and determine his identity. But the path to remembrance does not come without its trials, as the man finds himself embroiled in a twisted tale of revenge-with no right answer in sight.


**Chapter 1: Cave Stories**

**TGR83**

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><p><em>An empty field surrounded by hills. Rain. Drip…Drip…Drip…<em>

_A not so empty field. A desolate man, slowly walking._

_Silent reflection. Sadness. Tears. Drip…Drip…Drip…_

_Realization. Anger. Revenge. Veiled Lens._

_An unknown room—no, a familiar place. Snow. Ice. Freezing Cold. Runny nose. Drip…Drip…Drip..._

_Woman. Long, purple dress. Blonde Hair. Blue Eyes. Power. Fiery Passion._

_Man behind woman. A surprise move. A hidden blade. Back-stabbed. Blood. Drip…Drip…Drip…_

_Around the corner. Little boy, tiny whispers. Momma._

_Backspin. Smiling man. Exit. Sadness. Tears. Drip…Drip…Drip…_

_Time Passed. Realization. Anger. Revenge. A golden light. Screams. Darkness._

_Drip…Drip…Drip…_

I opened my eyes to the sight of water falling from stalactites, the drops making a soft plonk as they hit the stone floor. Or that is what I would see if it wasn't pitch black.

I couldn't help but whisper, "Where am I?" I knew I was somewhere dark and rocky—that much was obvious—probably a cave of some sort. I was lying on the ground, rocks stabbing me in the back. I stood up, body fighting all the way, and couldn't help but shiver—the cold was abominable. Around me was total silence: no voices, no living creatures, not even the sound of air circulating—only the ever-present plops.

"Hello…" I said. I felt like I was yelling but the darkness swallowed up my words, leaving me sounding like I was no more than a feeble creature. I took a step. Nothing. "Is anybody out there?" I shouted but my voice still disappeared into the void, no sign that anything registered what I was saying. Yet something was off. I took another step. Still nothing. Then another. This time, I walked straight into a large rock, causing me to swear loudly. I felt incredibly stupid. If there were stalactites on the ceiling there would obviously be stalagmites in my way. For the time being, my hands would serve as my eyes, hopefully preventing me from repeating my previous blunder.

As my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, I could just make out the outline of obstacles in front of me. However, that did not mean that I could suddenly see everything. The ceiling continued to be hidden by a thick fog of gloom, and on occasion I tripped over a stone or fell into a small cavity. But I was able to speed up my pace, hoping that I would be able to escape this rocky prison sooner rather than later.

Yet, every time I sped up, the sound of the drops also became much louder. I started jogging, and then flat-out sprinted—weaving around stalagmites and leaping over small hurdles in my path. I sought to drown out the sound of the drips by the soft treads of my feet. But no matter how fast I traveled, no matter how much noise I made, I could not escape the ever-present background noise. It seemed to get louder, pressing into my skull, preventing me from thinking, driving me insane…

…I stopped moving and slouched over, out of breath. It was hopeless—there was no escape. The noise seemed to quiet down, accepting my resignation. But the cold came back fiercer than ever, and I couldn't help but shudder as a chill ran down my back. I felt like I was being followed. Whipping my head around, I tried to find the source of my suffering. But just like before, there was no sign of anything around me: no whistle of air, no scurry of footsteps, not even the sound of something breathing. It must be my imagination. I started to slowly tread along in the same direction as before, not even trying to cancel out the dripping noise.

I tried to keep some sense of time, but after about an hour I just gave up. When my legs grew sore and my stomach empty, I began to wonder just how long I would be stuck here. I hoped to find an exit soon and feared that I might be moving in circles. The cold didn't make things better. My hands were numb, my ears were frozen, and my nose was runny. And yet, the drops were still plopping—the drips, still dripping. I longed to return home, craving a warm bed and a hot shower.

I suddenly froze. Home. A place of shelter and safety, familiarity and comfort. I was probably miles away from home, but what scared me the most was not how I would get home, but what and where my home actually was. I tried to think of my home, struggled to recall some memory. But I came up with nothing. I grew increasingly worried as I realized I couldn't remember who I was. I could remember details on how the world worked—the multiple regions, the basics of science, the different pokémon species—but I could not recall who I was for the life of me. I took a deep breath and tried to do the standard recollection exercises, but was stumped on the very first question: _My name is …blank... _My name is not blank—I fearfully understood that I had amnesia.

I could've pondered my identity for hours more but something jolted my mind out of its current train of thought. I could still hear the noise of the drops, but it sounded different. Quieter. Stranger. I took a step backwards and my foot brushed against something square and cardboard. I bent down and grabbed the small box.

The object was about as large as a box of sardines and made of a very cheap material. But what excited me was a strip of coarse material covering one length of the box. I had found a matchbox. While this was in no ways something that would get me out of this shadowy tomb, at least I would be able to see my surroundings. Hopefully, with light I could possibly find an exit. I carefully pushed the tray from its covering, making sure that no match was lost. Gently, I counted the number of matches with my finger: one, two, three, four, five. I pulled out a match and slid it against the striker. It did nothing. I tried it again and this time the match broke in half. I swore loudly. I pulled out another match and tried again.

This time it lit, the golden light momentarily blinding my dark-adjusted eyes. I noticed a leather backpack on the ground. How bizarre. I picked it up, knowing I would need supplies if I ever wanted to escape. Then I looked up and screamed.

On the ceiling was a mutilated body, a stalactite sticking through its back. The body should have slid down the sharp rock and be lying limp on the ground, but somehow it was defying the laws of physics. Black blood was dripping from a gaping wound, making the strange sounds I heard before. Worst of all, the head was twisted at an unnatural angle and looking straight into my eyes.

It was a monstrosity. I could not identify the gender of the body, as the top half of the head appeared to be melted to bone. Only a gaping mouth and chin were visible, and after looking at it for a while, I had the impression that the person was screaming before it was killed. The corpse sickened me to the core and if I wasn't so hungry, I would've vomited.

I quickly took a step backwards and tripped, the match flying out of my hands. But instead of landing on the ground and extinguishing, it landed on something else—something flammable. A giant fire erupted and I could clearly see all of my surroundings. Around me were the corpses of four pokémon: a salamence, an audino, a typhlosion, and an ursaring. Like the skewered human, these bodies were contorted at impossible angles and every single one of them was staring right at me. However, there were no wounds on any of them—no blood, no gore to be found. I knew they weren't alive, but they didn't look completely dead either. Rather, they looked…dormant.

Then I noticed something hazy in the distance. I struggled to see what it was and when I realized what was approaching me, I almost lost all my sanity then and there. Slowly making its way towards me was a shedinja.

The cream-colored shell stopped and floated a few feet in front of me, making absolutely no noise. Its eye sockets were completely empty, but I could feel its deathly gaze upon me, piercing the inner sanctum of my soul. Its presence brought forth a chilling atmosphere—I wondered if this was the cause of the cold I suffered through the previous hours. Had this thing been following me? We stood there silent for several minutes. I was trembling in fear, afraid of my life, and it was staring—no, maliciously plotting how it wanted to torture and kill me.

The spawn of death expelled a stream of darkness from its body, an amalgam of shadows and black ooze that formed the appearance of two very large and very sharp claws. I twitched out of terror and started to fall on my knees, begging for mercy from this beast. In response, the claws made a lifting motion and I was confused as I heard loud noises coming from the dead pokémon. Then it dawned on me—the shedinja was reanimating the corpses and controlling them like marionettes. Bones were cracked into proper position and limbs twisted out of their contortions. In no time at all, four puppet pokémon were standing on either side of the demon pokémon. They were growling and staring at me with murderous intent and I knew that this was how I was going to die.

But, then the shedinja did something that surprised me. It made a crying sound, not a small sniffle but rather a feminine scream of blood-curdling agony. I knew that these merciless, genderless creatures could not possibly feel sadness, and this was likely a ploy to phase me. Nevertheless, I used this as a chance to spin around and sprint as fast I could in the opposite direction.

I ran and I ran, adamant to escape the cursed-ghost's grasp. I maneuvered around rocks, nearly falling flat on my face on numerous occasions. I sprinted till my ears started ringing, but I knew the bug ghost was chasing me: its cold, clammy presence was causing the hairs on my neck to stand up. There was no way I was going to let myself die here and now, in an unknown place and with no recollection of my identity. But I could feel my energy slipping, my legs starting to give out, and my mind shutting down. Sooner or later I would end up tripping and everything would be over.

But there, in front of me, was a pinprick sized speck of light that filled me with hope. I knew I couldn't give up. I pushed and I pushed, struggled to keep moving, keep running, and keep living. The ringing in my ears grew to a deafening din, a cacophony of chaos, but I kept sprinting towards the ever-growing light. Just a little bit more, I can do this.

I flew through the light, and collapsed into a small stream of water. Blinded by the golden effulgence and devoid of any energy left to burn, I ceased moving. I feared that this would be it, this stream would become my watery grave. I would become the shedinja's next play-thing, its next puppet. Or maybe I would become its meal for the day. I waited for the inevitable, but the inevitable never came. Actually, I no longer felt the cold presence of its depravity, only the warm flow of water coursing along my body as I slowly lost consciousness.

I remember hearing the screeches and screams of zubat and feeling a sense of nostalgia before everything went black.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: This is my first experience with fanfiction writing. This is more of an experiment (and a way to fulfill the requirements for being a beta-reader). I want to see how this chapter is received. I <em>may<em> continue this story at a later date, but I want to plan it all more thoroughly. Currently, I have the barest of outlines. If I continue this story, do not expect anything for several months.**

**Please comment. I want constructive criticism, something that will help me improve my writing skills (whether it is grammar or plot/organization related). I plan on re-writing much of this story anyways, I am not overly happy with the second half of this chapter. **

**Thank you for your time,**

**TGR83**

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><p><strong>Citation for Title Picture: Phraya Nakhon Cave as taken by Niels Mickers on 117/06. Available via Wikimedia Commons.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to anything that doesn't belong to me. **


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